The Ballad of Brotherhood
by pignapoke
Summary: Tortured!Limp!Sam, Protective!Dean. Sam must face the aftermath of being tortured. Chapter 10 is redone!
1. Chapter 1

The Ballad of Brotherhood

Author's Note; So, this story is fairly morbid. Lots of tortured!angsty!limp!sam and protective!dean. I am really enjoying writing this and I'm proud of what I've written so far. Reviews are love. Thank you.

Sam has been gone for 2 days.

It wouldn't seem like a huge freak out fest to anyone else, but to Dean, it is well beyond that stage.

He paces the floor and calls Sam's cell phone for the 200th time. Since Thursday, it is all he has been doing. Calling, getting no answer, hanging up, and trying again.

The too-familiar voicemail message goes on and he decides that there is no point in leaving a message. For the record, he has already left 34 of them.

He rubs a hand over his tired face and inhales deeply, the smell of stale motel room sheets and lack of sleep filling his nostrils like smoke from a fire. He eases himself down onto the crusty bed sheets and lets out a choking noise between a sob and a sigh. He feels defeated, and wonders subconciously what his little baby brother has gotten himself into.

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"Please." Sam utters the word like a plea. It is barely audible, no more than a whisper. And his captor does nothing of it, but hits him in the chest again. Harder, if that's even possible.

Immediately, Sam feels his already cracked ribs crack some more. His breath comes out in pained wheezes. He has been hit like this for two days. Two days that simply feel like a lifetime. He is sure that Dean is on his way, that he will find him. But, then again, he thought these same thoughts yesterday. Still...

His captor stands over him and grins, his plastered-on lips upturning almost in slow motion. Sam lowers his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He cannot look at this man.

"You are special, Sam Winchester." The man draws these words out in a deep, throaty voice. He has not spoken until now, and Sam wonders why it has taken him so long to do so.

Sam shakes his head defiantly. He tries desperately to get it through the man's head that he does not have any more visions. He is just an ordinary guy. But, the man does not listen. And for the upteenth time, Sam is hit with a dead hand.

Sam sucks in the humid, stale air. His breathing is becoming labored and he does not know how much more of this his body can take. Slowly, ever so slowly, his mind shuts down on him. There is no longer a thought process, and each hit to his body takes a lifetime for his brain to comprehend. His body is quicker to realize the pain, though.

He wonders when Dean will be here. Even though he is stuck in this hellhole, where he knows he is dying, he is sure that Dean will come. In fact, it is the _only_ thing he is sure of, anymore.

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Dean sighs lightly as the Impala's purring grows louder in the silence of the night. He has been driving for hours, making stops here and there. He has a vague idea of where his brother is. But, at this point, he cannot be sure.

About a week ago, the Winchesters encountered a group of demons. They beat the living daylights out of them, but everyone is entitled to their revenge. Dean is sure that this is theirs.

Everyone who knows of the Winchesters knows that their only weakness is each other. Whenever Sam is hurt, Dean is hurt. And Dean feels like the living dead.

His eyes rest on the road ahead of him. He has not slept, and his body is quick to realize that he needs it. He cannot sleep, though. Because the time he spends sleeping is time wasted. And not a second can be wasted as far as Sam Winchester's life goes. He turns the radio off and concentrates on his journey. His mind reels into his overprotective state. Where the hell is he?

The barely there, barely noticeable glimmer of a flashlight catches in the corner of his peripheral vision. He eases the car to a halt, not paying attention to his surroundings. He does not even care where he is. He only cares if Sam is here.

He is quiet. He carries a gun in the back pocket of his jeans, a knife tucked behind his belt, and a rifle full of rock salt at his side. This, he does not worry about, because he often scares those into telling him what he needs to know. He hopes it will work this time, too.

He does not know if it is a sign, or just eager anticipation, but his stomach drops as he inches closer to the sight of the flashlight. He crosses through underbrush and weeds and finds that behind an old willow tree, a small shed is visible. He did not notice it before, because there is no light coming from it and it is hidden by the umbrage of the tree.

The flash of light obscures his vision as it is forced into his eyes. They adjust quickly, though he instinctively thrusts a hand over them.

"What are you doing here?" A low growl and the clicking of a gun is heard. Dean clicks his rifle, ready in case this man proves to be a problem.

"Looking for my brother. Seen him around?" Dean maintains his composure.

"I haven't seen anybody around these parts for years. I'm sure you're in the wrong place." He steps into the light from his own flashlight, and Dean catches a whiff of him. He smells like old cologne covering up body odor.

But, there it is. The faint, coppery smell of blood.

Dean shakes his head and his heart falters with each step. "Nope. I think I'm in the right place." Dean pauses to moisten his lips, his fingers trembling. "It'd be smart to just lead me to Sam, now."

The man charges full force at Dean and before he is thrown to the ground, he catches his face. The demon from a week ago. The demon that Dean swears he killed.

The impact of the larger man against Dean's unready form startles him and catches him off-guard. But he is quick to recover and he fires the rock salt at him.

The demon hisses and moans, wisps of black smoke trails into the sky, leaving nothing on the ground but the man's clothes. And even so, Dean swears he'll burn them if he finds he had anything to do with Sam.

Sam.

He still has not found him.

He pushes open the door to the shed and squints. He pulls his own flashlight out from his coat pocket and shines it into the eerie darkness.

The light lingers on a man's face-bloodied and bruised and battered. It is almost unrecognizable.

Sam.

"D-Dean?" Sam's scratchy voice stabs through his heart. His tough exterior diminishes quickly.

"Damnit, Sammy." Dean rushes forward to help his brother, quickly untying ropes that bound trembling wrists and ankles. Sam falls forward slowly. He would not be falling if he had the strength to hold himself up, and the fact that he doesn't worries Dean to the core.

Dean steadies his brother's head in his hands, the touch causes Sam to flinch. It doesn't surprise Dean. God only knows what the sick bastard did to his brother.

"I-I'm sorry, Dean." Sam cries out suddenly, like a child. Dean shakes his head and pats Sam's cheek to keep him awake.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Sam. I need you to stay with me, okay?" Dean tries desperately to soothe his brother, to let him know that everything is going to be okay. But he cannot assure himself of this, even.

"I'm sorry...for not...answering your calls." Sam croaks and smiles painfully at his brother.

Dean smiles back. It is so like Sam to apologize for the smallest things.

They have bigger things to face, though, and they both know it.

Dean gently lifts his brother and eases him to the car, responsible for most of his weight. He is eager to get back to the Impala because being in the car gives him a sense of safety.

It is the only safety they know right now.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

The Ballad of Brotherhood

Author's Note; Thank you so much for reviewing the story! I'm eager to get back to each one of you! Thanks!

Dean pockets his cell phone and stares at the road ahead. A part of him does not want to look at his brother because he is afraid of how he might look. Another part knows he has to. He knows he has to make sure Sammy is alright.

That part of him wins.

He glances over at his brother without turning his head. He does not want Sam to see him this shaken up. He silently assesses his wounds, but quickly realizes that he would have to do a full checkup once they were back at the motel.

He turns his eyes back to the road and tries to concentrate on how grateful he is that Sam is alive. He doesn't know what he would do if he ever lost Sam.

His mind goes back to those clothes belonging to the demon.

_Shoulda burned 'em._

Dean is eager to get the full story from Sam, but that can wait. For once, things are going to have to go at Sam's pace.

"Dean?" Sam cries out. Dean looks over at his brother and notices dark circles under his eyes and he does not know if it is brusing, or lack of sleep. Sam says his name again, this time draping a weak hand over an even weaker stomach.

"You gonna be sick?" Dean can tell. When Sam gets sick he gets this lost look in his eyes. Immediately, Sam's thoughts go back to the Impala. God forbid he ruin the interior.

Sam verifies this with a simple nod of his head, and Dean pulls over, rushing over to the passenger side. He swings Sam's long legs over the side of the seat and he collapses into a heap on the cold asphalt.

He trembles and dry heaves, because nothing is left in his stomach, and Dean can sense the pain by Sam's body language. Dean lays a quivering hand on the middle of Sam's back and rubs it gently, soothing strokes, up and down, up and down, up and down...

Sam lays there for a moment and wishes he could just sleep. After two days of being beaten brutally, his body is officially worn out. He tries to imagine he's laying in a comfy bed, warm comforters, Dean in the bed next to him. But, Dean snaps him out of this fantasy as he gently lifts his brother.

"Stay awake, Sammy. We'll be at the motel soon, I promise." As Dean gets in on his side, he wants to speed, but he knows that this will only rattle Sam more, so he goes slow.

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When they get back to the motel, Dean sits Sam on the bed and checks him over in the light. He looks tired, so tired. His shoulders slouch forward, his legs have given out, his whole body trembles. He does not speak. He simply sits and stares at Dean, anxious to get this over with.

Dean goes into the bathroom and runs some warm water in the tub. There is no way Sam will have the strength to stand in the shower, and Dean is sick of smelling his little brother's blood.

Dean pulls out the first aid kit and slowly pulls Sam's jacket off, cutting his bloodied shirt off with trembling hands. His ribs are bruised beyond belief, and Dean realizes that that is the reason to Sam's wheezing. He looks away for a moment, composing himself.

"Is it bad?" Sam whispers, softly.

Dean turns back to his brother and smiles.

"Nothing I can't fix, Sammy."

Sam does not reply, there is no reaction. So he gets Sam in the tub and washes his brother as if he were a young child-fragile.

Draining the tub, he gets a sinking, sickening feeling as he washes the dark crimson swirl down the drain.

He dries Sam off and puts some boxers on him after checking him over. His bottom half seems fine. He leaves Sam's upper torso bare, because he took the brute of the beating there. Eyeing up his chest, he notes purples and blues and blacks, deep swelling and welts. Before bandaging him up, he checks his back, and he finds the same marks as he did on his chest. _Ugh._

He takes the ace bandage and slowly slips it around Sam's torso, wrapping it as tight as he could without hurting him. Sam whimpers under his touch and Dean is eager to get this over with. Sam's eyes droop. Dean cleans and bandages the small gash found on his forearm and continues on to his head. He slips his fingers through Sam's brown locks and finds a few bumps but nothing too serious. His hands continue to Sam's neck and he discovers very tense muscles. He freezes, as if Dean were going to strangle him, in fear. His eyes widen. He is so on-edge, and so distraught.

Dean drops his hands and stares Sam straight in the eyes as he tugs Sam's shirt on.

"You're safe now, Sammy." He says this in a fatherly way, as if looking out for him. Sam nods a little, to show Dean that he trusts that, but even then, Dean can sense an obvious fear in Sam's darting eyes.

Dean drops his no-touchy-feely policy. He shocks even himself as he wraps his arms gently around his brother's body. After almost losing him, he needs to touch him, to feel him, to make sure that he's real. But Sam does not return the hug. His arms are limp at his side. Instead, Dean hears a faint sobbing noise, and he holds back his own tears. There is nothing like having to suffer through your brother looking like he came out of a meat grinder.

"Come on, man. No chick-flick moments, right?" Dean presses Sam's body a little closer, despite this remark.

Sam lets Dean pull away and he feels a sudden anger at the lack of warmth, the lack of his brother's touch.

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Dean lays in the bed on the other side of the room and simply stares at his brother. His back is to him, but he still sees his torso rising and falling, his breathing shallow. He does not know what to do from here. Sam can feel his brother's eyes on him.

"Dean?"

Dean goes into ready-mode. Waiting to help Sam in whatever way he needed.

"You're too far away." He states this simply. It is true. After all is said and done, Sam still cannot sleep without his brother close to him.

Dean gets out of bed and pushes it towards Sam's, edging them together. He lays back down, scoots closer to Sam's side, and rubs his arm lightly.

"Better?"

He sees Sam nod and realizes that they can both sleep better when they're closer. It is a fact. He closes his eyes, finally ready to pray to whatever god there was, that his brother was safe.

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_"Special. So special." The captor raises his fist and pounds it against Sam's chest, railing him in the space between his ribs. Sam doubles over, his restraints catching him and pulling him back._

_His eyes close as the man hits him again. And again. And again. And it is continuous until Sam sees his chest go inward and feels his breath catch in his throat. He flails his arms wildly as his mind realizes he is dead._

Sam does not realize he is actually flailing until Dean's arms on his, holding him down, and he feels a dull ache and a sharp stinging in his ribs. His back aches from the movement.

"Sammy, wake up!" Dean calls far too loud. Sam feels his brother's touch get lighter and it calms him a little.

"What the hell was that?" Dean whispers, his insides squirming as he notes how uncomfortable Sam looks.

"Nothing." Sam swallows thickly. Dean is so anxious to state that he is indeed lying. But the tone of Sam's voice tells him to keep his mouth shut for once.

He needs time.

Sam rolls over and tries to go to sleep once more. As he feels his body grow more relaxed, his brain drifts off into a subconcious level.

And all he hears is his own screaming.

The torture was only the beginning of this.

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

The Ballad of Brotherhood

Author's Note; I'm overwhelmed with the gracious reviews I have been getting. TeacherTam, I hope all is well. Kirst-thank you so much for really getting into these reviews. They are the best.

The screaming does not stop. Sam tosses and turns and grabs fistfuls of blanket. Each movement he makes hurts him, but he moves anyway. Moves away from his captor because he cannot move away in his nightmares.

Dean watches his brother with big eyes. He is at a crossroad. He thinks about taking him to the hospital, but he knows that this is no longer a matter of physical pain. His upper torso is a mess, and he still winces at the moves he makes, but his mind is far more damaged than even Dean can handle.

It has been one long night.

And the screaming still does not stop.

Sam often tells Dean that he is fine. But when they sleep, Dean knows that this is not the truth. He watches Sam's legs pull in close to his body, his chest heave, his arms shake as they hold his knees up close to him. This movement hurts him, but it makes him feel a little safer.

Dean tells himself that he should be able to hold his brother, to comfort him. But he has never been that kind of person and the thought of it makes him worry that one day he'll go soft.

But, does it really matter? After all. That _is_ what Sam needs.

Dean glances over at Sam and finds he tosses and turns no more, but still he trembles, and Dean does not know if it is from being cold, or being afraid. He sits up, scoots over, and wraps Sam's blankets around him even tighter.

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It is early in the morning. Dean is snoring lightly and Sam is sitting up in bed, watching him. He rests his arm over his sore body. The sun hasn't been shining and it puts Sam in an even grumpier mood. He covers this up, though. Because if he worries Dean...

An hour goes by and Dean comes out of a satisfying slumber. Sam's body twinges with envy. Dean pushes his fingers through his messy hair and rubs his eyes, yawning lightly. Sam does not move.

"Sleep well?" Dean asks Sam. He would have expected him to sleep longer, considering.

"Like a baby." Sam croaks. Dean notes the droopy eyes, uncomfortable position, and fake reassuring grin.

"You okay?" Dean sits up and his body is more alert. He is more than ready.

Sam bites down on his bottom lip, flashes Dean a smile.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Dean pauses, shrugs it off. _Of course he's fine._

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They are in the Impala again, driving to their newest destination. Dean thinks it best to get Sam as far away from here as possible. Sam's long legs come close to touching the glove box, his skull against the headrest, his eyes closed. Dean silently thanks God for giving the boy some rest.

_It is dingy. The old rotted wood is beaten down by weather. It is dark, too, and Sam has to squint to see even the things not completely hidden in darkness. His wrists and ankles are bound by tight ropes and they cut fiercely into his skin. He can feel his own face drain of color, his heartrate slow, and his breathing become labored. _

_"Dean cannot save you, now." The demon's eyes widen. Blood trickles down the corner of Sam's mouth and his eyes roll into the back of his skull as the demon lifts Sam high into the air and throws him down, his bones crunching with a sickening thud._

"Dean!" Sam cries out suddenly. Dean is taken aback and parks the car. Sam sits with his hand on his heart, pounding wildly beneath his shaking hand. He lurches forward slightly, catching his breath.

"What is it?" Dean asks, his voice coated with concern as he puts a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder.

His face is pinched with pain, his eyes wide with fear. He sucks in a breath, wincing.

"Nothing." His voice falters and Dean knows he is lying. It's so obvious.

"Bullshit, Sammy." Dean's eyes meet Sam's and he holds his gaze.

Sam raises his voice, Dean hears the shaky quality of it. "I said nothing's wrong, Dean. Let it go."

Dean is impatient and realizes with a pang of guilt that he wishes Sam would get over it. He knows this only happened yesterday, but...

Dean steals another worried glance towards Sam but starts driving once more.

_Rope. He is bound by rope. _

The music plays a little louder as Dean adjusts the volume dial on the radio.

_They kidnap him early in the morning, when Dean is still sleeping._

Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along.

_Come in through the front door of their motel room. It was old. The lock was old. They should have been somewhere safer._

He yawns, eagerly pulling into another motel's parking lot. Gets out of the car, grabs a key to a room from the desk as Sam watches helplessly through the window. He cannot stand to be alone right now. He needs Dean.

_Gags him, pulls his hair, beats him until he is physically unable to even attempt a scream._

"Ready, Sasquatch?"

_He wasn't ready._

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Sam drops his stuff off on the floor, doesn't bother to put any clothes away. He pulls his laptop out.

"What are we here for?" Turns it on, starts tapping away.

"Uh.." Dean is only partially prepared to answer this question, not sure if Sam is ready for a hunt yet. "Some girl died in her home a few days ago. She was only 22 and there was no sign of a struggle." Dean stocks up on rock salt and adds, "Perfectly healthy, too."

"Shame. I'll get on it." Sam searches and comes across some information, alerting Dean. This is what gets Sam. Dean is not prepared to handle another breakdown. On the screen, a picture of the girl is there. She is beaten and bloodied. Bruised and beyond dead. The picture beside it is even more sickening because Sam trembles and clears his throat.

_Lucas T. Mackensie, 31, claims to have witnessesed a group of men entering the home but never leaving. He is the only witness police have had come forth._

"He covered it up." Sam states blearily, exhaustion overtaking him as the pit of his stomach bubbles with anger.

"What?" Dean cocks his eyebrows, confused.

"That's him. Mackensie. He was the one who did this. He made the story up about those guys." Sam shakes his head, frowning at the audacity of it.

"How do you know?" Dean personally has never been this sure about something he-well, something he wasn't sure of.

"Because. That's the guy who..." Sam feels hot tears coming to his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, closes his laptop.

"Oh, Sammy..." Dean puts a hand to his mouth, eyeing up his brother. He looks sick, tired, emotionally drained.

"Did you kill him?" Sam mentally kicks himself for not bringing this up earlier, it is still a cause of his distress, his unease.

"Shot the bastard with rock salt. Turned into a puff of smoke." Dean stares at Sam and sees he isn't satisfied with the answer. "You're safe, Sammy. Don't worry, kiddo."

Dean pats his shoulder and walks into the kitchen. He digs around in the fridge, finds it empty. So, he calls Sam in and tells him they should go out to eat. Spend some time together.

They both know the reason for this, but Sam agrees anyway. Dean insists that it'd do him some good, to get out and get some fresh air.

Sam doesn't mind where they are, as long as Dean is there to protect him.

Dean sighs warily and pulls his jacket on.

It still has a spot of blood on it.

He shakes it off in disgust.

Sammy's blood.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

The Ballad of Brotherhood

Author's Note; I'm really enjoying writing this. I already have my ending planned out and because it's so...interesting, I plan on having a sequel. Thanks for the reviews!

Dean is on his his second plate of food.

Sam has barely touched his first.

"What's 'a matter?" Dean asks, noting that Sam has not said a word the entire time.

He is so drained. At this time, he would like nothing more than to curl up and sleep. It is too hard to do when all you can think about is...

_Don't think about it._

Sam shakes his head, decides to force some food into his system. He needs the energy from somewhere.

"So, I figure we'll head out tomorrow and see what we can find on Mackensie." Dean pushes his food across his plate, shovels some into his mouth. Sam winces at the name and eyes Dean with disgust, clearly confused at how he can be eating so much.

"'Kay." Sam digs his fork into his food, taking in his surroundings. The restraunt is nothing fancy, just a place to sit down. Families go in and out, not a care in the world. Sam feels out of place.

He steals a glance out the window. Streetlights light the sidewalk, people window shop, stare at the stars, still carefree.

And that's when he notices it.

Mackensie. His face is pressed to the window, he looks like hell. His eyes are swollen and puffy, bruised and purpled.

Sam's eyes widen and they meet Mackensie's. He winks at him. Sam wants desperately to get up from the table, chase after him, kill him, hurt him until he's _this close_ to death. He wants him to suffer.

"What is it?" Dean puts his fork down, hands on the table, ready to get up if needed.

"Mackensie." Sam's voice falters. "He was at the window."

And, to no one's suprise, when Dean looks out the window, Mackensie is gone.

Dean turns back to Sam, tells him he's just imagining things, reassures him that he killed him.

"Eat. You haven't touched your food." Dean lowers his head when he says this, mumbles it. He does not want Sam to hear the worry in his voice because it will worry _him_.

"Dean. I know what I saw." Sam cries out, trying to make his brother realize that he's not crazy. That what he saw was real. But, then again, he cannot even convince himself of this. He gives up and eats. Might as well make Dean happy.

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Sam eases himself into a restless sleep. He has once again found no comfort even in the thresholds of his blankets. He hears Dean snoring and wishes he could be where he is. Asleep.

_"I will find you Sam. I am not dead. You know I am not dead." Mackensie is at his side, a knife in his hand. He lifts it and thrusts it into Sam's side. He quivers, shakes, moans._

The scream dies at his lips.

Sam wakes up in an instant, his whole body trembling. He sees Dean rush from his bed and his hands are steadying Sam's shoulders before he can open his eyes.

Pained sobs overtake his body and he cannot help but clutch at his brother's shirt. Dean reluctantly presses Sam's shaking body to his, rubbing his back in small circles.

"Sssh. It's okay, Sammy." He whispers in his ear. Sam has definitely been on-edge. But he should have noticed he was this stressed out. He can feel Sam's muscles tense up beneath his fingertips.

"I keep seeing him everywhere." Sam cries out, tries to relax under the familiar touch, but he can't. Because he still catches glimses of Mackensie in the dark.

Dean rubs his brother's back until he hears his breathing even out. He holds him an extra second.

"You okay?"

Sam sniffs, wipes his tears, relaxes in his brother's hold.

"I'll be okay. I just need time."

Dean nods, and Sam is so grateful that he understands. "I can do that."

Dean lays in bed with Sam, despite how uncomfortable he feels. He does not want to be in this chick-flick moment, but Sam sleeps better when Dean is near. And he desperately needs sleep.

It overtakes him quickly, and the rise and fall of his chest pushes Dean into his own deep sleep.

Sam awakes deep into the night from another nightmare and finds Dean is already awake. Apparently, Sam was screaming again.

"He's trying to communicate with me, Dean. He's not dead." Sam forces these words out, his throat dry.

Dean rests a hand on his shoulder, eases Sam back into sleep. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. You need sleep."

Sam curls up close to Dean, his breath comes out in short puffs against Dean's chest.

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They wake up in the morning, and immediately Sam wants to talk about his nightmare. Dean groans, but presses the subject.

Sam goes on to tell how Mackensie talked to him.

"So you're telling me that Mackensie is talking to you in your dreams?" Dean blurts out.

"Nightmares." Sam corrects him.

"Okay. Well, I'll go look around for him tonight."

Sam shakes his head very quickly, before Dean is even finished talking.

"I don't want you to leave me alone."

The request is slight, yet so intense. It breaks Dean's heart. He cannot stand to his little brother this upset. After all he has been through. He could be afraid to fight, to hunt, to be hurt, to be beaten. But no, of all things, he is afraid to be without Dean. And it makes Dean realize how much Sam really loves him.

Dean would give anything in this world for Sam, and Sam knows it. But Dean never realized just how much he means to someone. Sammy...he really loves him. And this thought makes Dean want to kill this bastard even more for laying a hand on him.

"Fine. We'll go together." It is going to be rough either way. If what Sam says is true, he is going to be in danger whether he is alone, or with Dean prowling the streets. Dean supposes it is safer this way. He knows they would both worry themselves sick if Sam was here at the motel.

Sam nods. He gets up to go to the bathroom, change his clothes, comes back to find Dean missing.

"Dean?"

Even after Dean comforted him last night, he still fears the times when Dean is not in sight, not at his side.

"Dean!" He calls out again, louder this time, urges himself to not sound so goddamn worried. His heartrate increases, his hands start to tremble, he starts feeling dizzy...

"Everything alright?" Dean appears with a bottle of water in his hand, guzzles a sip before taking in his brother's appearance.

"You _are_ gonna shower, right?" Dean flashes a grin, cocks an eyebrow.

Sam clears his throat. "'Course."

Dean pauses, hesitant to make his move into chick-flick territory.

He moves close to his brother. He knows that Sam is scared. He knows that he is far from ready to face this, yet he does, and for that reason, Dean is proud.

"Sammy." Dean starts, "I'm gonna be here to take care of you forever."

Sam swallows thickly, the fear really kicking in.

_Forever isn't long enough._

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

The Ballad of Brotherhood

They are ready to leave. They have their weapons ready-rifles, machetes, matches, rock salt, silver bullets, some spell book Sam found at a yard sale, and the list goes on. It is all packed into the trunk of the Impala. Dean closes it gently. Whispers something about his baby, hops into the front seat. Sam makes his way to the passenger side, breathing in and out. His heart pounds against his chest rhythmically. In we go.

Dean starts the Impala, smirking at the low purring sound. Tells Sam he's ready to get the show on the road, knows in the back of his mind that Sam is far from it, and eases the car onto the highway.

They drive for about two hours, and as they are driving, Sam's mind subconciously drifts off to that too-familiar night.

_"Damn dead weight." Mackensie growls, heaving him into the van. He groans, hits the bottom of a van with a thud. He cannot feel his limbs._

_They drive and drive until Mackensie hauls him out._

_He still cannot move. He feels a stinging against his neck and it knocks him out almost immediately._

"Ready?" Dean inquires, noting Sam's on-edge figure.

_"I'm going to take my hand away. Don't scream or you'll be dead before you stop." Mackensie shoots roughly in his ear._

_He pulls his hand away, the smell of dirt leaving his nose. He does not scream, because he knows in the back of his mind that Dean is nowhere near their location, and no one would come to save him anyway._

"Not really." Sam blurts out, clenches his teeth.

Dean sighs, contemplates if they should turn around. But he knows Sam is stronger than this, and he has to face his demons sooner or later.

So, Dean gets out of the car, drifts over to the passenger side, opens the door. Sam sits there, staring at the ground.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean puts a rough hand on his shoulder, hauls him up.

Sam stumbles next to his brother, keeps an extremely short distance between the two bodies. He is scared, and they both know it.

He holds on to the bottle of rock salt for dear life, as if he were a child firmly holding onto his mother.

They walk closer to the shed. At first Sam did not know that this was where they were going, but he knows that they were going to come here eventually.

Dean opens the door and clicks his flashlight on. Sam clears his throat, masks his emotional terror. Dean swallows against his rough tongue, vaguely aware that he had found Sam beaten to a bloody-and bruised-pulp just two days ago. His stomach churns at the thought. His brother almost died here.

Dean's stomach flips and he feels the sudden urge to vomit. He smells it. After two days, he still smells Sammy's blood. It is red and splattered against the wooden panels, though no longer fresh.

Sam suddenly latches on to Dean as they are engulfed in the shed. They are completely inside of it now. Dean shudders, Sam cringes.

"There's no one here, Sammy."

Of course not. He knew that.

Dean and Sam slowly evacuate the shed. Dean pulls out a match, lights it. He tosses it into the shed, satisfied as the wood slowly starts to burn. To be safe, they both stand and watch until the entire thing is nothing but a pile of ashes. The shed is gone, but Sam's fear is not.

"What if he just went somewhere else?" Sam tries to come up with any reason for Mackensie still being alive.

Dean shakes his head defiantly. "He's dead, Sammy."

"What about the 22 year old?"

"That was days ago. Mackensie is gone. He's not gonna kill anyone, and he's not gonna touch a hair on your head, got it?"

Sam nods. Dean has to be right. He's always right about this stuff. He always knows what to say to make Sam feel a little better. He just wishes it'd make him feel _okay._

He knows he has to face his fear eventually. He doesn't even know what it is that eats him up inside. He has been kidnapped before, beaten, tortured, but not like this. He waited two whole days. He has never waited that long for Dean. Ever. He wants to blame Dean for it, but he knows he can't. It would be unfair, cruel. He just wants something to be at fault for this. Maybe he blames himself. For not being strong enough, for not being able to handle it. He should have been prepared. He should have fought Mackensie. He should have been able to scream when Mackensie told him not to. He should have found a way to get the ropes off of his wrists and ankles. He should have been able to stop Mackensie from knocking him out. He could have found a way to escape when Mackensie was out of the shed. He could have called Dean on his cell phone after getting it out of his pocket. He should have grabbed his cell phone as soon as he could, should have tried reaching past the restraints for it. He should have done _something._ But he didn't. And he realizes that he is weak. And he was paralyzed with fear. And for these reasons, he should not be alive.

"Sammy?" Sam has been thinking too long. It is so like him to get lost in his own head, to drown in his thoughts.

"Sorry." He gets into the Impala, heart returns to a normal pace as the car starts moving away from Hell.

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Dean thinks Sam is okay.

He pulls his blankets up to his chin, rolls over, and drifts off to sleep.

But Sam screams.

It scares Dean. He does not expect it.

"What is it, Sammy?" He rolls over to the other side, sees Sam sitting up.

He had another nightmare. Dean becomes more and more aware that he cannot handle much more of this. He simply does not know how to help his little brother anymore. He wants Sam to get over this, but he just doesn't know how. There is only so much he can do. He can hold his brother, he can tell him everything will be okay, he can assure him over and over again that Mackensie is dead, as if he were telling a small boy that there is no boogeyman in the closer, and still Sam is afraid. And he just doesn't know what to do.

Sam holds his head in his hands. The darkness swells. He starts to cry, defeated and lost and confused and afraid. He refuses Dean's touch, slouches down and buries his head into the pillows.

And Dean falls asleep listening to his brother cry.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

The Ballad of Brotherhood

A/N: So I can't drag Sam's emotional pain out forever. I am hoping to end this within the next 2 or 3 chapters. If you really want to see more, let me know in a review or a PM, and I'll add in whatever you'd like to see. After all, this story is written for YOU.

_"There's nowhere to go." Mackensie is here again. He hovers, he lingers, he just stays too damn long._

_"I know." Sam is startled to hear his own voice. He has never spoken before._

_"You know that Dean won't be coming for you, then?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Good. This will be easier on my part." Mackensie kneels down, stares Sam in the eyes. _

_He is human. He may be a demon, but there is definitely human in him, because, even though he tortured Sam, he never killed him. Being a demon, he had the option to do whatever he wanted to Sam and not have to face human threats like police officers or jail. And yet, he didn't kill Sam, because he begged and begged for him to let him go, for him to let him see his brother. He wanted Dean, and Mackensie dragged it out so that Sam could have that._

_He wonders if Mackensie was in pain when he died._

_Mackensie pulls a gun out, holds it to Sam's head._

_Sam squeezes his eyes shut, thinks back to when they were kids._

_He wishes Dean was here. He knows that there is no way to escape this, but he at least wants to die in his brother's arms. He doesn't want to die alone, where no one knows where he is._

_Mackensie shoots the gun._

_There is no pain, it is quick._

_But he knows that Dean is there when he dies, and he steps out of the shadows, crosses over Sam's body. _

_"Nice job."_

There is no screaming anymore. Sam has stopped making it obvious that he has still been having nightmares. He cannot function anymore. He still has this fear that Mackensie is going to come back, that _anyone_ is going to come and take him and hold him hostage and keep him away from Dean for such a long time. He cannot handle that.

He breathes in deep, a thin layer of sweat coating his ghostly pallor. His fingers tremble as he pulls back the covers, slides out of bed, goes into the bathroom.

It is a safe retreat. Here, he does not have to worry about the nightmares. He undresses, steps into the shower, lets the hot water massage his back as he calms himself. He wonders if Dean ever gets tired of saving his ass. He must be a pain. Sam knows that he's secretly not cut out for this job. The only real reason he ever got involved with it was because of Jess. And does it even matter anymore? Eventually, they're going to die, and no one will be able to fight them off. They'll just die out, like animals.

"Sammy? You okay in there?" Shit. Dean gets pissed if the hot water's gone. Looks like the shower is over.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Sam calls out. He gets out, dries himself off, gets changed because he is still ashamed of the bruises that have not left from the torture, and sickens himself at the sight of them. They do not hurt him much anymore, nothing he can't handle, but he can still feel Mackensie's fist jolting against his skin.

He steps out into the bedroom, Dean is sitting on the bed, drumming his fingers against his leg.

"'Bout time, kiddo." He sounds a little ticked, but it's normal, so Sam shrugs it off.

Dean locks himself in the bathroom, gets ready like Sam did. Sam knows that Dean is going to drag Sam on a hunt with him, but he doesn't really want to go. Because, he doesn't feel the urge to fight evil anymore. Maybe they're not all as evil as Dean makes them out to be. If Sam ever said this to Dean, he'd think he was crazy. There was just something about Mackensie that didn't seem so horrible, and maybe blaming Dean for leaving him there for 2 days seems frivalent. Maybe there are bigger evils, abstract evils.

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They get to the small town of Banter at around 2. Sam hops out of the car, followed by Dean, and they grab their stuff. It is going to be an easy hunt, just another demon to vanquish, so that it can wreak havok no longer. Dean huffs, angry that he spilled a little holy water on his shirt. Great, he's already in a pissy mood and they haven't found the demon yet.

Sam is aggravated. He rubs his hands over his face, eager to get the show on the road. This demon, whatever it is, should be an easy kill, and they should be out of here in an hour tops. He just wants to get some sleep.

They truck along past the local diner, go behind it, end up in a patch of woods. It takes about 20 minutes.

"Dude. Why couldn't we just drive over here?" Sam asks, annoyed.

Dean stops walking, so Sam follows suit. He gives his little brother the are-you-freaking-kidding-me? look.

"You wanted me to drive the Impala into here, where the little branches could scratch her up? No way, Sammy."

"So we have to walk an extra 2 miles?"

"You could use the exercise, tubby."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

So they continue on, the cool breeze gently blowing past them. There is nothing to fear, it's routine. This isn't some big scary monster, just something to get rid of. Like a fly on the wall, swat it and no one will know it was even there. No one will remember it, and things will go back to normal.

They are in the woods, waiting. The light from Dean's flashlight goes haywire, sending small light beams all around. Sam catches a glimpse of the demon.

"There." He pulls out his holy water. A beautiful girl steps out, her eyes are wide with anticipation. She has gorgeous curls, bright blue eyes, a broad smile. Sam stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her calmness. She is peaceful.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean hisses, grabs his own holy water and flicks it at her. She does not hiss, does not moan or yell. She simply...dies. And the fact that she puts up no fight deeply disturbs Sam.

"Well, that was weird." Dean declares, packing his holy water into his pocket, turning to go back to the Impala. "Easiest job we've ever had." He mutters. Sam is still standing by the woods, in awe.

He hopes that when he dies, it will be peaceful.

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7

The Ballad of Brotherhood

A/N: So I've added a twist in the plot to make it longer. I ask you now more than ever to review and let me know if this was a good decision. Thank you very much and I apologize for taking so long with this chapter.

Sam holds his head up above the toilet, his shaking hands the only support he has. His limbs quake and his stomach churns with every movement. He doesn't even understand why he feels this sick. For the past week, all he has been doing is throwing up and laying down and there is no relief. Dean does not know about it. He lays down when Dean is out of the house and throws up at those times also. Sometimes he cannot help but puke when Dean is in the house, and at those times, he prays that he does not hear him. If he hears him, Dean will worry. And there is no need for him to worry, because Sam is over this whole ordeal, right? Of course. So there is no need to worry Dean.

He empties the contents of his stomach for the third time that day. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his head full of tremors. He cannot stand just yet. It is hard to support yourself when there is no nourishment left in your body. Sam cannot remember the last time he ate, and if he tried to, he would surely vomit again. So, he lets it go.

He pushes his body up using his hands, the cold rim of the toilet keeping his hands cool. He would very much like to lay down in a bath full of ice, as his body must be an abnormal measure of degrees over the normal 98.6. He leans heavily against the door frame, bracing himself. After his body is returned some strength, he brushes his teeth. If this sickness keeps up, he is going to need a new toothbrush. The sickness is unbearable at times. And Sam knows it is only a matter of time until Dean realizes something is wrong. He questions himself often why he has not bothered Dean with this. He knows that it is linked to Mackensie. All of these feelings and symptoms have been linked to him since day one.

Everything is linked to Mackensie.

Sam jumps, taken aback, when he hears Dean knocking on the door. "Sammy, you okay in there?"

He did not even hear Dean come in. It is common for Sam to get lost in his own head. He often thinks and blocks everything out when he shouldn't. Things go wrong that way. He needs to always be on guard, now more than ever. If he isn't, he faces dire consequences.

"Fine." He croaks out weakly. He hopes Dean does not notice the sickness in his voice, hopes it is not too obvious.

"Well, hurry up then, I gotta piss."

Sam flushes the toilet, hopes the smell does not linger. He splashes some cold water over his face, dries it off, opens the door. Dean is standing there, eyebrow cocked, lips pressed together.

"Bout time."

Sam smiles forcefully, brushes past Dean. For now, he does not have to pretend. He hears the water run and knows Dean is getting in the shower. It is time to relax. He lays his head back against the pillows, sighing at the relief his head gets from the lack of pressure. He doesn't even realize that he falls asleep until he is dreaming.

"_What happens when Dean finds out?" Mackensie hooks his finger, pulling Sam closer. _

_He cries out, unable to answer his question._

"_What happens when Dean knows I'm still alive in your head, Sammy boy?" Mackensie pulls out a long dagger, slices a thin gash just above his right eye. _

"_I guess we'll find out."_

Sam is awake again. He can still hear the water running. He must not have been out for long. He lays there momentarily, tries different methods for catching his breath. His heart is fluttering wildly and at a rapid pace against his heaving chest. He calms himself down, takes in one more deep breath.

Dean steps out of the bathroom, a small cloud of steam follows close behind him. He is dressed, with the towel slung over his shoulder. He glances over at Sam, hangs the towel on the back of the door, and gazes at him more intently.

"I leave you alone for 15 minutes and you get yourself into trouble?" Dean gets closer to his brother, plops down on the bed and starts pulling out the Winchester First Aid Kit.

Sam pulls back, his brow furrowed. "What?"

Dean pulls out some cotton balls and the bottle of peroxide, wets a fluffy cloud of cotton and starts dabbing. It stings, so Sam realizes that there must be something there. Dean pulls away as Sam reaches a hand up to his forehead. He pushes gingerly against a small gash.

"Oh, fuck." Sam pulls his fingers away, feels a small amount of a sticky substance, warm and crimson red.

"What the hell happened?" Dean continues dabbing, ignores his brother's cry.

"Uh, Dean..." Sam's fingers shake, he does not know how he is going to explain this. It is too far fetched, too out there. He wonders if he is still dreaming.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure it was something stupid, right?"

Could Mackensie really be doing this...literally in his dreams?

"Probably tripped over your own clown shoes."

Is this even humanly possible?

"Hit your head off the end table, huh? Figures."

What if he dies? What if Mackensie pushes him off that cliff, lets him fall to his death? What if the cut is deeper this time? What if-

"Dean." Sam cries out, forcefully. He cannot take any more of his drivel.

"What?" Dean says this nonchalantly, pulling out a small patch of gauze, holds it down with medical tape.

"We've gotta talk, man."

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"So you're trying to tell me that Mackensie is hurting you in your nightmares?" Dean blurts out. This is too insane.

"Pretty much." Sam lowers his head. He does not want to make eye contact with Dean because he knows that this sounds ridiculous.

"You're sure you didn't just trip?"

Sam raises his head. "No, Dean. I was sleeping. I had a dream that Mackensie cut me. I wake up, and I've got a cut in the exact same spot. You can't tell me that it's just a coincidence."

Dean does not speak. He can hear the fear in Sam's voice. There is no way that he can save Sam without killing him himself. He can keep him awake, but the lack of sleep with screw him up, without a doubt. There is no way the he is going to go to a hospital, because no doctor would believe that. He cannot just try to figure this out on his own because he is honestly lost and confused. He should have known. He should not have just assumed that everything was alright. Look where it got him. He should have paid more attention to his brother's needs, should have known that he wasn't okay, that he wasn't sleeping well.

He knows who he needs.

Bobby.


	8. Chapter 8

The Ballad of Brotherhood

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. They are appreciated more than you know. Also, I'd like to say that, although there has been a twist in the plot, it has not been lead astray from the main plot line. Right now, I am delving further into the symptoms, the feelings, etc. associated with this new 'power' if you will. The next chapter will definitely have more Mackensie and more of what I know you're all looking for. If you read this, thanks.

"Yeah, Bobby? It's Dean." He holds the phone to his ear, eager.

"You boys okay?" He replies gruffly, his voice laced with concern.

"Uh. Yeah." It was almost too difficult for Dean to hold back the rush of words eager to escape his hesitant lips. He needed Bobby to know because he was almost at a loss of how to help his brother. Ugh.

"Well, then..."

"I just need a little help with something." No use explaining anything to Bobby now.

"Uh huh."

"Uh, right. River Inn-Banter, North Carolina."

"Alright, I'll be there in the morning." He paused gently. "'You boys handle that?" Dean glances at Sam, finds him looking bleary and worn out.

"Yeah, we're good, Bobby."

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The waiting is the worst part for Sam. He needs to stay awake so he doesn't fall asleep. If he falls asleep, he'll dream. And dreaming is dangerous. But fighting the sleep that he so desperately needs is taking his toll. His head is against the wall, he rubs his eyes wearily. He wants to shed the tiredness like snake skin. If he gets into a comfortable position, he will surely fall asleep-so, he is left tired, uncomfortable, sore, and frustrated. The perfect combination.

Dean looks over at Sam sympathetically. He wishes Bobby would be here sooner. If he talks over the phone, he is risking being overheard by anyone that wishes to look into their conversation. All hunting needs to be postponed.

"Why don't you go to sleep and I'll wake you up if you start having a nightmare?" Dean suggests this casually and gently, careful not to sound forceful.

Sam ponders this. He does not want to go to sleep. He is utterly afraid of sleeping when Mackensie is still alive in his head. He cannot risk it. What if Mackensie hurt him again? What if he told him to do something that would affect _Dean_?

"It's too dangerous, Dean." He yawns lightly, running his hands tiredly through his lackluster hair.

"Sam." Dean presses, slightly annoyed. Sam gets so stubborn when he is tired. "Go to sleep, man, I promise nothing will happen."

Very reluctantly, Sam raises himself from the floor, rubbing his hand over his features. After all, if Dean wakes him up before his has a nightmare, there is no harm, no damage done. He lays his head against the soft pillows, blushing slightly when Dean pulls the covers up to his shoulders.

"I'll be up soon." Sam chuckles nervously as he drifts off to sleep.

-----

_He is running very fast. He pants from exhaustion. Behind him, he hears the crunching of leaves and twigs-a sound very similar to the one he is making himself. He is being chased. He runs and runs for hours upon hours-it does not cease. Around him, he sees the faint blurs of trees and grass and rolling hills. It seems peaceful, but his eyes dart around constantly and he cannot catch the full effect of the beautiful area. It is hard to breathe, let alone focus his eyes. A breath catches in his throat and he panics as he starts to hyperventilate, gasping for air that is somehow missing. It is then that he stops breathing completely, but keeps running. It is never ending. He needs to get away from Mackensie. If he stops running, he is dead. And for his life, for Dean's life, he needs to run._

_"Run."_

-----

He sits up abruptly, clutching at his chest, feeling the way too erratic beating of his own heart. Dean's strong arms are there to steady his, leaning Sam forward. He presses Sam's face into his chest, wincing at the sound of his brother desperately choking for air.

"Alright, Sammy, take it easy." He does not know what to do for him. He cannot simply wave his hand in the air and make the oxygen appear. He tries calming the young Winchester down, rubbing his hand up and down his back. He used to do it when they were kids, and it always calmed him. Hopefully, it would work this time too.

Sam wheezed painfully, the breath coming back way too fast for his lungs to handle. He hangs limply in Dean's arms, letting his forehead rest gently against the crook of his brother's neck. He calms down slowly, and is grateful that Dean lets him take his time in catching his breath.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Dean eyes him cautiously, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"I was being chased...by Mackensie." Sam spits out, swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat. "He told me to run."

Dean nods, releases his brother from his comforting grip. Sam is immediately frustrated at the lack of warmth, the lack of physical contact. It sends a light shiver down his spine.

"How long was I asleep?" Sam asks. He has lost track of time.

"A few hours. Bobby'll be here soon." The clock reads 5:30. He _has_ been out for a few hours, yet he does not feel well-rested. He doesn't feel rested at all.

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"Dean." Bobby acknowledges Dean, nodding. He takes in Sam's appearance. He looks very worn out. He has dark circles under his eyes from fitful nights of sleep, he holds his body with little strength. "Sam." He says to the younger Winchester almost painfully. It is a shame to see the boy in said condition.

Sam smiles weakly. Still, weeks after the torture, he is seeing Mackensie. At first he thought that these nightmares would keep his mind off of Mackensie, but deep down, he knew that he had to get over this, the fear. If he didn't, Mackensie would kill him. It was a definite. There was no real Mackensie anymore. As Dean had said, he is in fact dead. But because Sam was keeping him alive in his head, in his nightmares...well, it was as good as having him alive and in the flesh.

He _had_ to get over this fear. Eyeing Bobby and Dean in hushed conversation, he sighed. He just didn't know how.

_TBC..._


	9. Chapter 9

The Ballad of Brotherhood

A/N: Okay, sorry for this chapter being so short. I am very short on time this weekend, but I felt like I needed to update and give you guys something. Hope you're not too disappointed.

A/N 2: If you want to see anything happen to Sam, let me know. I can arrange it. -gives you the 'pimp the limp' smile-

"Sam!" Dean calls out to the limp form of his brother. He rushes over to his side, eager to aid him. Sam sits up abruptly.

"Bobby..." Dean winces as Sam cries out, the mind-numbing pain shooting through his brain once more.

Bobby stands back, alert but hesitant. Sam is getting visions and migraines now. It is as if Mackensie is attacking his brain from every possible angle.

Sam sits still, his hand held at his temple, waiting. But, the pain does not come anymore. It is now a dull throbbing, pulsating inside the little room left in his skull.

He worries about this often, how extreme this will get. He wonders also if these occurences will somehow cause a cataclysmic meltdown. What if he blows up the universe or something extreme.

Hey, it could happen.

He blocks out the world, focusing on different breathing techniques he learned from what seemed like ages ago. He tries relaxing his body, focusing on each specific body part, one at a time, until the pain in his head is gone. Dean's arms are still on his shoulders, shaking him gently.

He opens his eyes, and only then does he remember that Bobby is also along for the ride.

"Sorry." He says to both of them, pulling his hand away reluctantly.

Dean cowers over him, gripping his shoulder firmly.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" He purses his lips, eyes his brother up. Sam simply nods.

Bobby goes to the kitchen and comes back with a wet rag, cool to the touch against Sam's sweaty forehead. He sighs, delighted.

"Sucker." Dean grins.

He allows Dean and Bobby to help him up, to get him to his feet. They both insist on him laying down and taking it easy. They keep telling him that _they_ would sort it out. But, it was his brain!

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"How are we supposed to stop this?" Dean sighs, frustrated. He runs his hand through his growing hair, soft to the touch. He needs a shower, a good night's sleep, maybe a beer or two to fill in the empty time slots.

Bobby leans foreward, scratches at his beard. "To be honest, Dean. I really don't know. I don't think there's much _we_ can do."

Dean freezes, rubs his palms together.

"What do you mean?"

Bobby shakes his head, glances into the bedroom as he notes Sam's sleeping form.

"This Mackensie guy is in Sam's head. This is something he needs to face on his own." Bobby declares, getting up to get some beers.

He slides one across the table to Dean. He takes it greedily, nods a thanks.

"So you're saying there's no way to help him?" He feels lost, confused, pissed off. There has to be _some_ way to help his brother.

Bobby shrugs. "You can talk to him. Reassure him. I know you hate it, Dean, but Sam needs your comfort right now. He's scared."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed like every time Sam needed him, he had to get all chick-flick on him. God, he hated that. He didn't even know why it was so hard. He just always felt like he had to prove something. Like 'tough guys wear pink'. Except Dean was the kid who was so tough that he beat all the kids in pink shirts up.

"Yeah...yeah, I guess you're right." Dean sighs.

"Why don't you get some rest, Dean. I'm sure you could use it just as much as Sam."

Dean nods a thanks again, chugs the rest of his beer. He'll shower in the morning, he tells himself. He slides into the bed next to Sam, pulls the covers up to his chin and drifts off to sleep. Bobby is right, he needs this.

_TBC..._


	10. Chapter 10

The Ballad of Brotherhood

A/N: I apologize for taking so long. As of right now, I'm working on 3 stories, and it's hard to update all of them in one day. Thanks for your patience!

So, this is how it has to be. Dean has to get all chick flick-one of the things he hates most-to help Sam. He has assumed all along that Sam would be able to overcome this, but in fact, it has only gotten worse. He wonders if, maybe, this could have been prevented if he was just there for Sam.

He props himself up on his elbow and watches the stress lines etch into Sam's skin as he sleeps. He remembers what Bobby said about comforting him, so he gets up quietly, sits down on the edge of the bed, and strokes his fingers through his hair. Sam calms down almost immediately, sinking down into the comfort of his brother's touch. Dean suddenly feels guilty. A simple hug, a comforting word, a pat of his hand, and Sam would ahve felt a little safer. He instantly regrets not doing these things sooner.

In the corner of his mind, he knows that this can still be fixed. If he starts showing Sam he really cares, maybe it _will_ help him get over this. He's sick of sitting back and watching this obstacle destroy his brother. It's not fair to him because he does not deserve this. Mackensie cannot take over his little brother's life.

He makes sure that until Sam is okay, he will be doing his absolute best to help him through this. He pushes his bed soundlessly up to Sam's, getting into it and resting his weary eyes against Sam's sleeping figure. It is something he has gotten used to. He looks so peaceful. Mackensie will not have his way with Sammy as long as he's around.

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Sam wakes up early in the morning to find his brother sleeping next to him. He snores lightly, the heat of his breath making a stray piece of pillowcase flutter back and forth. Sam smiles to himself at the thought of snoring. He wonders if he snored last night. He wouldn't know, because he was actually asleep the whole night, dreamless. His eyes linger to Dean again. He is so grateful for him. The smallest things he does, even without realizing it, mean more to him than the older Winchester can even comprehend.

He sits up and leans back against the headboard, grateful beyond belief that he has finally had a good night's sleep. He feels refreshed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and they resume their post on Dean's sleeping form. He is quiet now. Sam knows by now that when Dean stops snoring, he is close to waking up. And sure enough, he does. He can feel the eyes on his skin, and he turns to see his brother smiling at him.

"What are you looking at, fruit loop?"

Sam shrugs, still smiling.

Dean just shakes his head, rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. He enters the bathroom and that's when Sam decides to get out of bed as well. Maybe he'll make breakfast today.

The eggs are a little strange looking by the time he's done with them, and the toast is a little burnt, but Dean appreciates the effort all the same. And, on the inside, he feels a rush of pride over how he has made his little brother the shining star around here. It's refreshing.

Dean brings up talk about a new hunt, and Bobby walks in on the conversation, still bleary eyed from sleep.

"Boys," he digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, baseball cap tucked over his eyes. "I think it's time I head out."

"Aw, Bobby." Sam feels a little disappointed. He should be staying longer. After all, he was only here for one night. "At least have some breakfast." He pushes the plate of eggs towards him.

Bobby chuckles, rubs a hand over his scraggly beard and shakes his head. "'Ain't never been a fan of your cooking, Sam."

Dean laughs heartily at this, brushing the crumbs off of his hands. Sam just scowls at the two.

"I'll be heading out now. You boys know to call me if you need me."

They both nod. They'll be seeing him again soon. "Sure, sure." Sam says between mouthfuls. "Take care, Bobby."

Dean shakes his head at this as he waves to Bobby, now walking out the door with his own duffel.

"What?" Sam's expression is blank.

"Take care, Bobby." Dean mimicks, his voice breaking through 2 octaves. "Got any more pansy remarks I should know about?"

Sam just shakes his head and clears his plate, taking Dean's too.

"So, what's this new hunt all about?" Sam inquires, washing the plates and leaving them to dry in the drying rack.

"Ah, I figured we'd hunt some demons down in..." Dean flashes a corny smile and points to his younger brother. "Hawaiiiiiii!" He claps his hands together and cocks an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Sam is speechless. They could really use the break. "Are you serious, Dean?"

Dean shrugs it off, as if it's a casual, routine ordeal. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"Well. How are we supposed to pay for it?" Dean just brushes his hand towards him, a gesture that obviously shows how Sam should shrug this matter off.

"I have money saved up. We're covered." And it's true. He's had the money saved up since Sam had been taken hostage. He was too preoccupied with his brother that he had been in the house for the most part.

Sam grins, appreciative. "Great. This is great, Dean."

All of a sudden, Dean's face falls. He turns somber.

"I almost lost you these past few weeks." He just states it simply, and Sam is okay with that, because there's not much more to say, he understands.

There is a pause in the air, and they both fall silent. It seems things have taken a turn towards Seriousville.

"We don't really act like brothers, sometimes." Sam shrugs. "We never have chick flick moments."

Dean laughs a real laugh, sheds his witty comeback. "What the hell."

Dean wraps his strong arms around Sam's lanky frame, hugs him close to his body.

He pulls away abrupty. Well, that was short-lived.

"Don't ever expect me to do that again." He winks.

It was good while it lasted.

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Dean sits down across from Sam. They are at the local diner, eating pie. A long time ago, Dean promises Sam whenever he can that things will be normal. They're being normal today.

Sam digs into his, taking hungry mouthfuls. Dean winks at him as the waitress comes over. Dean has this theory that she has a crush on Sam. He shakes his head whenever he does it, but blushes when she comes around.

She smiles at them. "Can I get you boys anything else?"

Blush.

"No, thanks, we're good." Dean gives her his best smile, takes the check from her.

"Give her a good tip." Sam comments, taking another bite of his pie.

"I thought you didn't like her." Dean notes, cocking an eyebrow.

"She was very friendly, Dean." He shakes his head and puts a ten down on the table.

"A TEN?" Dean whispers very loudly. "That's more than double what we paid for the food!"

Sam just grins sheepishly. He wants to be nice. Really nice.

They get up and leave. The waitress makes sure she waves to Sam on his way out. He waves back. He is definitely going to be coming to this diner more often.

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So, maybe Sam only really needed Dean to let him know that he was there for him. He isn't fully recovered, isn't completely healed. But, he's definitely making progress. Dean is always going to be by his side, whether he enters chick flick territory or not.

There are times when you just know things are going to be okay. Now is one of them. Even if Sam still thinks about Mackensie here and there, even if his mind drifts off to that one night he knows he'll never forget, he still has Dean to catch him when he falls.

Always.

As someone once said, 'It takes two men to make a brother.'

They will always be there for each other. It doesn't matter what kind of a mess they get into, they're getting out together. After all, they're the Winchesters.

And no one can tear them apart.

_TBC..._

See that? To Be Continued! Haha. Most people were depressed/disappointed over this. So this chapter will tie up loose ends, and then I'll have an epilogue. Hopefully this will be better for you guys! Let me know!


	11. Epilogue

The Ballad of Brotherhood

Epilogue

"It's really nice here." Sam remarks, laying out on the beach, letting the waves crest the tips of his toes. The sun is shining down on them and he really enjoys it. Dean was never a fan of this kind of weather, but he's laying next to Sam, arms folded under his head, peering up at the bright sky.

"Yeah." Dean sighs and pulls his shades down the bridge of his nose, eyeing Sam up. "You know, we did good, Sammy."

It is an easy, simple choice of wording, but Sam grins at him and nods. "Yeah, we did, didn't we?"

They both resume their positions and let the sun beat down on their bare chests. It's relaxing. Sam still has the very faint lavendar spots on parts of his chest, reminders of that fateful night, but he is over it. Mackensie cannot win, because the game is over.

They are silent for a while, and they take in their surroundings.

"Some pretty hot chicks here." Dean notes, eyes bobbing as a beautiful brunette struts past them.

"You know..." Dean starts, turning back slowly to face Sam. "You could use this whole torture thing to your advantage."

Sam gapes at his brother in awe. "Excuse me!?"

"Well, you can always give them this sob story, then have them 'kiss your boo-boos'." Dean smirks, as if Sam should find this funny.

"That's real sophisticated, Dean." Sam shakes his head.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Again with the silence. It's what they do best in times like these. They enjoy it.

"Well, maybe if you weren't snogging over every woman that walks past you, you might get some ladies yourself, Dean."

Dean stares at him blankly.

"The 'ladies' go for guys like me, Sam." He lays a hand on his chest and settles his head into his folded arms.

"Yeah, okay..."

"Ah, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...you have much to learn, young grasshopper."

_Fin._

**I'm wondering if I should make a sequel or not? Let me know what you think!**


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